The red head of my infancy

 Kimberly with that red hair and palest skin.
My front teeth numb.
I'll just search for the shade.
It's even in my finger tips.

Now there we are, in that hush.
Under soft foliage of red flowering vine.
We were carefully placed by our parents to look like soft toys.
To impress the guests no doubt.

We did our best to communicate back then.
I didn't sense the same hostility in her.
I was still learning to speak.
So when we interacted and by mistake understood.

When our utterances aligned.
We giggled and cooed in surprise.
Somehow connection happened.
And it felt like a miracle.

She was uprooted and I never saw those curious eyes again.
That strange curly orange hair.
Parents and their playdates.
Maybe someone lost their job.

The parents' friendship lost it's strategic edge perhaps.
Now every red headed woman feels like a sister.
glowing out like that late morning...